


Change of Pace

by Yosei



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alpha Moriarty, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Abuse, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse, Were John, Were-Creatures, Werewolf Sherlock, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:45:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5054518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yosei/pseuds/Yosei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pups presented into their orientation of either alpha, beta or omega when they reached adulthood around eighteen years of age. While omegas, especially male omegas, were few and far between the hordes of betas and alphas, there was always a chance... and Sherlock's fears came to life when he woke up just shy of his eighteenth year covered in the sweat and slick of a presenting omega's ghost heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bolt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Helpivefallenintoafandom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helpivefallenintoafandom/gifts).



> FINALLY WORKING ON A PROMPT LIKE I'M SUPPOSED TO lol X,D
> 
> Oh GOSH I am SO sorry I have not written in CENTURIES gosh I hope you don't all hate me now. I can't even really blame writing block entirely for this, I just didn't want to write and my mind didn't feel like producing. Hopefully this has changed and I'll be able to write at least once a month or so.

Just because an omega can reproduce and soothe the needs of an alpha doesn't mean that they will be viewed as anything more than an item of convenience.

This is the first lesson that Sherlock learns when he is old enough to watch his carrier being beaten bloody for speaking without being spoken to. As a pup, Sherlock wanted for nothing, after all, his sire was the alpha of their entire pack. He could read for days and none of the other pups would bother him with their play fighting or bite him because they were too afraid of slighting against his father who watched all members of the pack with a critical eye. Any challenge to the pack hierarchy would not be tolerated. So, Sherlock listened to his father and for the most part his elder brother, but his mother was a different case. She was a full-blooded omega wolf. An alpha, in order to breed more alphas, needed to mate with a full-blooded omega despite the fact that they have always been the weakest links of their race. Omegas, in wolf culture, were nothing more than spineless breeding chattel whom were expected to birth children, follow orders and little else. While Sherlock did not hold much emotion or compassion for others while growing up since the other pups silently hated him and his father and brother generally ignored him, he could at least feel the wrongness of what was going on. He knew that his mother being thrown around and beaten for just breathing was wrong. To think that an entire breed of wolves were destined to the nothingness of abuse, hatred and belittlement was a terrifying thought. 

And the worst part was that Sherlock hadn't even presented yet.

Pups presented into their orientation of either alpha, beta or omega when they reached adulthood around eighteen years. While omegas, especially male omegas, were few and far between the hordes of betas and alphas, there was always a chance... and Sherlock's fears came to life when he woke up just shy of his eighteenth year covered in the sweat and slick of a presenting omega's ghost heat. The burning agony under his skin had lasted for five days, but the aches and change from his neutral pup scent had stayed. There was no denying it as he emerged from his wrecked bedroom to see his disappointed father and newly presented alpha brother waiting for him with another wolf that Sherlock had seen before, knew had seen him, but never interacted with directly... James Moriarty. 

The alpha was shorter than Sherlock, his skin a ghostly pale, almost sickly, with a small smile tilting his pink lips, but he wasn't fooled... the wolf's black eyes gave away his every intention, the sick glee he felt as he planned every horrid thing he wished to do to Sherlock in return for every second he ignored the alpha's attempts to gain his attention... to bait him away from his books into something darker. A much more cruel way to spend the time filled with the screams of the 'weak.' And now Sherlock's sire had promised his next heat, his first fertile heat, to the beast that smelled of pain and death.

So Sherlock ran.

As soon as he was left alone, he broke the locks to his windows and ran as fast as his wolf could carry him, leaving behind everything because anything he brought would only slow him down. He would need every extra second of ground that he could get. After all, Moriarty's betas were already howling and snarling from a much too close distance behind him. Sherlock had always loved to learn and explore, going out further than his carrier would have liked into the woods, but now he surpassed even that, completely leaving the limits of his previous knowledge into uncharted territory. 

Even when he thought his legs might give out, he kept going for days, sometimes just barely evading capture with bloodied wounds burning his skin, until finally Moriarty cornered him on the precipice of the waterfall that ended their territory and descended into the places unknown to even the wolves. 

“Sher-lock.” Moriarty clicked his tongue as he approached him slowly, casually. “It's the end of the road, my darling mate. I've certainly had fun, but it's time to come home now and end this silly game.” Sherlock only growled and held his position, crouched low and threatening. Presenting as an omega might have changed his biology, but he would not be bowing low to anyone and certainly wouldn't go down without a fight. But his options were running out since during their last confrontation, the alpha had gotten a smart slash deep into the thigh of his hind leg which had slowed the omega down enough to get into his current position. Sherlock could see the alpha red flaring out in Moriarty's irises as he closed in upon his wounded prey step by step, a menacing smile almost cracking his face in two. Sherlock's eyes flashed down as his injured hind leg balanced precariously on the slippery edge of rocks. The way down was... not even really in sight, the waterfall pounding down so powerfully that a thick mist covered the river below and any sharp rocks that might have been residing there. “Come on, my omega...” Moriarty's raspy and gleefully light voice taunted. “You're already mine-” the alpha snapped his jaws forth at the same time that Sherlock made his decision, simply stepping back off the precipice and falling.


	2. Stripes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this was how he was going to die...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap I posted two days in a row (kind of). That's like never happened before ever. o.o (maybe?)

Sherlock burst out of the water coughing and gasping as his claws scratched at sand and rocks, trying to find purchase. He dragged himself out of the water, just nearly missing getting caught up in another rush of waves that might have carried him another mile or drowned him. After hacking up the water residing in his lungs, Sherlock began crawling back into the cover of the woods, his hind leg having for the most part given up on him when he tried to stand. 

The trees surrounding him were thicker and closer together, with lush foliage and big leafy plants that Sherlock had yet to discover. He hoped they weren't poisonous as he threw himself into the cover of the strange undergrowth. A small ray of sun cut through the tops of the trees giving enough light for Sherlock to inspect himself. The wounds he had sustained were... not good. Still bleeding gashes and bites littered his front legs and hide and while he had been careful not to get bitten on his newly sensitive nape, he had traded his left shoulder for it and it throbbed incessantly. His hind leg was probably the worst considering that now he couldn't say that he had never seen his stripped bare muscle before. Of course wolves were known to heal quickly, but with the sheer size of the wound and the fact that Sherlock had just gotten off his first heat less than a week prior, his chances of moving anytime soon were essentially non-existent. Ever the stubborn man, Sherlock began licking the smaller wounds on his paws, trying to stop at least some of his blood from pouring out of his weakened body. Maybe he could even stop some of the infection that was bound to creep up on him.

A low growling broke his train of thought as his eyes flashed up, scouring his surroundings in a less than graceful state of panic. The wolves knew nothing of what lie beyond the river under them, they had never cared and Sherlock was turned away whenever he had asked. He had been very aware that there were other creatures lurking in the forest besides his own race, but he never thought he would come face to face with one of the largest predators. His blood, flowing hot and painful against his torn skin, felt cold, his heart too large in his chest as he watched a hulking shadow of pure muscle creep along the edges of the overgrowth in front of him. Sherlock might have been able to avoid confrontation with the way the water had drowned his scent out, but with how profusely he was bleeding, he knew the creature was just running through its possible approaches, taking its time. After all, it wasn't like Sherlock could run.

It seemed that the beast finally made a decision as it stalked straight to Sherlock, the webbed leaves moving to make room for its large clawed paws. The creature had white fur with stripes that threaded like blades across the muscle that stretched over broad shoulders all the way down to the tip of its tail. The beast, a snow white Bengal tiger, prowled toward Sherlock with purpose, unafraid of his obviously injured state. So, this was how he was going to die... he was under no illusion that he would be surviving this encounter as hot puffs of breath brushed over his fur. Sherlock laid his head down on his nearly cleaned paws and turned on his side to give the tiger a clean shot to his abdomen or throat, hoping the beast wasn't in the mood to play before he ate. A cold nose nudged his leg and Sherlock let out a badly muffled whimper at the pain as more blood gushed forth and he began to feel lightheaded, blackness creeping around the edges of his vision. He let the darkness overtake him as was overcome with the thick iron smell of his blood and the oddly misplaced warm scent of tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My eyes are so dryyyyy
> 
> PS. I am totally aware of how epic and original my chapter titles are, thanks *dramatic hair flip*


	3. Rather Odd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little cottage, bandages and a bowl of soup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THREE DAYS AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

The first thing to invade Sherlock's senses was the contrasting burn of tugging on freshly sealed cuts and soft caress of cotton blankets. His eyes snapped open and he tried to move only to grunt and whine when he pulled on the stitching in his leg. He stared at his leg as if it was a foreign object, a tight, neat line of black stitches closing up the deadly wound that had resided there. But how..? The last thing Sherlock could remember were the bright blue eyes of the Bengal tiger as its jaws poised to sink into his flesh, but instead he had been brought to someone's home and his wounds had been tended to... rather expertly. The sharp clicking of metal utensils drew his attention to the open door to his left that led to a combination of a living space and a kitchen where a small man was bustling about, cooking and humming to himself. A growl of warning began to build in Sherlock's throat before he stifled it. If this stranger was set upon hurting him, he would have done so already.

The man, short and blonde—and looking rather harmless in his beige jumper, jeans and loafers—turned to him then with a loaded tray of what might have been some kind of soup dish. Sherlock was much too distracted to care as their eyes locked and the man smiled at him in a demure manner. Quaint, considering that Sherlock was still in his wolf skin, claws and teeth not exactly on display but still very much there. Ready to use if Sherlock felt threatened. The man considered him for a moment, pausing a few feet from the bed, before setting the tray down on a desk to his side and picking up a box that had been sitting by the door.

“My name is John.” the blonde started as he slowly but confidently approached Sherlock. “I know you're a were and can understand me,” he smiled “so let's make this a little easier on me. I'm going to check on your stitches and change some of your bandages. I can't guarantee it will be painless, but I'll try to be quick, yeah?” Sherlock blinked slowly at John but didn't move away when he plopped the box down beside the bed and opened it to release more of the herbal scents that had been flooding Sherlock's nose since he woke. John's fingers were surprisingly warm on his fur and he flinched away slightly at the contact, but the blonde remained patient, taking a moment before gently reaching for his hind leg. While John did have to apply pressure to switch bandages and check to make sure Sherlock hadn't disturbed his stitches too much, he was precise and gentle as if he had done the process for his entire life. There had been medics in Sherlock's pack, but none of them were anywhere near as efficient and precise as John. And while the medics had smelled of blood, John continued to smell like the herbal medicines he applied, warm food... and tea.

Before Sherlock really knew it, he was sniffing at John, and John's eyes were changing. A thin ring of alpha red flared for just a moment in his blue eyes, sharp shadows of stripes fluttering like a pulse on his tan skin before fading back to nothing. Sherlock's eyes widened as a small, shocked bark escaped him. John wasn't only an alpha, he was the tiger that was supposed to have ended him. Anyone would have been nervous about the tension that now lined Sherlock's form, but John just let out a soft huff of breath.

“Git.” John said almost affectionately. “I couldn't hurt you if I tried. My race is... compelled to protect omegas. And I'm not one to go eating actual people thank you very much.” he sniffed almost in an insulted manner as he put away the rest of his medical supplies before turning back to the wolf, every trace of red gone from his eyes. He was once again the calm picture of harmlessness as he held out a hand to Sherlock, beckoning him closer. The omega watched him with wary eyes, analyzing every curve and line of his face for lies and John, such a strange man, just waited patiently through it all. Sherlock crept forward and laid back down with a rather put upon sigh. John only laughed softly before grabbing the soup bowl and proceeding to feed Sherlock before telling him to get some more sleep. And Sherlock did, closing his heavy eyelids and feeling warm and safe around an alpha for the first time since he presented. For the first time ever really, if he was being honest... And that was rather odd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient with me on these tiny chaps, they'll get longer with more dialogue when my writing block gets the frig out. OTL


	4. Through Blue Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's perspective of Sherlock. Healing and finally hunting. A teacup shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm. So. Sorry.
> 
> I have had a super major writing block and everything I write was feeling so forced that I just stopped, but I saw some really cool comments and found the will to keep writing~ ;3
> 
> This chapter was SO hard to write out but there it is!! I hope it makes sense X,D

To say John had been shocked to scent a wounded omega wolf in his territory would be an understatement. 

He had been hunting—he had to often to feed his rather unusual and still small pack—when the thick scent of pain and metallic blood hit him. He quickly abandoned his pursuit of the boar he had been following—it was clumsy and he'd find it again easily—and veered toward the smell. John was cautious in his approach but unafraid as he neared a small clearing. The shivering mass of shadowy, black fur, almost hidden completely by the overgrowth of vines and large leaves, was not what he had expected to find. As John approached and the bulk of fur twitched and moved to look at him, he growled in warning. John was not exactly feeling threatened, but if this creature decided to attack him he was going to at least give it a warning beforehand. When bright blue-green eyes with flecks of gold flashed over to him, John almost froze. Now that he was close enough, the almost sweet tang in the air, under all the blood, confirmed that this creature, this wolf, was an omega. And a male omega at that.

How on Earth did he get here?

As he approached, the sour smell of fear and misery laced into the air and made John's nose scrunch up, his stomach tightening uncomfortably in response to the omega's discomfort. John's species of were-tiger were usually solitary (save John's habit of collecting strays), but he would never forget the feeling of being in the presence of the prized few omegas in his family's pride before he left to find his own territory. He had grown up with structure, cared for and protected by his powerful omega mother and sister. The two queens had been smaller than his father, smaller than almost every alpha, but never lacked for fierce strength or quick wit even when they were in full heat. Omegas were a sign of stability in turmoil, which was why the sight of an even rarer male omega, wounded, was particularly troubling.

When he had reached the wolf and it seemed that he wasn't going to be attacked. John payed no attention to the wolf's vitals display and proceeded to sniff at the omega's fur as he tried to ascertain the damage without touching, since his claws would definitely do more harm then good. John could feel the wolf's eyes on him but continued his path down the smaller body and paused to nudge lightly next to the wound with his nose. The wolf let out a sharp yelp, squirming and twitching in pain before his whole body relaxed as he passed out. The gash was wide and bleeding rather profusely. He would need to clean and stitch it up quickly, or the wolf might get to choose between bleeding out or infection. John was not surprised to see the wolf had lost consciousness, after all, the muscle was clearly visible. How the omega had kept going was beyond John. The wolf's unconsciousness ended up being rather beneficial as he could slip into his more vulnerable human form to pick the young wolf up and quickly begin the trek back to his home. 

It had taken more time then he thought it would to clean and stitch up the wolf, much more time then he would have liked, but he was careful with the new wolf body type. The omega was still unconscious, which continued to set the alpha's nerves on edge, but at least he hadn't needed to sedate him to get the stitches in. After cleaning the wolf and the muddy mess he had made doing so, he started cooking something simple for when the omega woke. John was surprised to hear the rustling of the wolf moving about before an hour had even passed.

Tray of food in hand, John went back to the small guest-bedroom. He could feel the wolf's eyes on him, but could also see him relaxing slightly, smart enough to realize that John wasn't going to hurt him. John was able to set the food aside and check the omega's bandages, but before he could get some food into him the wolf scented him and realized exactly what he was.

John was almost offended. He had a perfectly average human form and although he was on the short side, he did not lack for muscle or strength. Apparently others always saw him as completely harmless in his human form which was an advantage most of the time but an annoyance for the rest. 

“Git.” he had called the wolf before explaining a bit about how omegas were in his pride as he fed the wolf some of his cooking. John was pleased to see the wolf drift right back into a nearly comatose sleep after eating. Most of it was probably due to the omega's exhaustion, but John liked to believe there was at least a bit of trust between them now.

-+-+-+-

Just a few days later, not even a full week, John came home from an errand to see the wolf up and walking around the cottage. As soon as he came in the door the stir-crazy omega was there, trying to squeeze past him, but John closed the door firmly.

“I can see you heal much faster than the usual were,” John eyed the omega's wound and could see that if he removed the stitches today, the gash wouldn't re-open unless the wolf really exerted himself or transformed back to his human form. “but as a healer, I can still see that limp you've got and I'm not about to release a wounded omega-” the wolf growled at him petulantly but he continued “back into the woods when he can't even transform without hurting himself.” The wolf eyed him, probably debating on whether he should just break a window to get out, before thinking better of it and flopping down right in John's path in protest. John laughed at the childish display before having an idea. “Come on, if you let me take those stitches out today and you rest for a few more days, I'm sure you'll have healed enough to come hunting with me.” The omega's head shot up, his pretty, bright, multicolored eyes shining with the opportunity to get out of the cottage. “I thought that would get your attention.” John smiled before the wolf head-butted his waist and shoved him into the wall before prancing ahead of him and looking back as if the say 'hurry up.' 

“Brat.” John shook his head and followed the omega to the guest-room.

-+-+-+-

Around three more days was about all John could handle as the wolf constantly walked around the entire cottage, very much like a bored child, and head-butted him into things when he wasn't paying attention. The wolf really was a terrible brat when he wanted to be and although John did get mad and chastise the omega, he couldn't find it in himself to be angry for long. Finally in the afternoon, John gave in and let the wolf outside, watching him dart into the woods. John removed his clothing before closing his front door, transforming into his beast and trailing after the wolf. The omega was smaller than him in this form and very fast, but still clumsy as he got used to being in the open woods again. John caught up to the omega quickly and would have laughed at his shock had he been in human form to do so. 

As it was, he let out a soft growl and sprinted ahead of the wolf to an area where he had seen some wild poultry mucking about. The wolf followed him, but when John stopped at a good distance away from their prey as to not alert them, the omega kept going starting up a flurry of terrified chirps and a whirlwind of flapping wigs and loose feathers. John wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose. The ruckus caused a few birds to run in his direction so he snapped their necks and left them in a pile under a shrub before following the omega just in time to see the wild bird take a sharp turn, sending the excited wolf straight into a pond. The bird escaped as the wolf dragged itself, sopping wet, out of the pond. When John came over the wolf glared at him, just daring him to try to smile in his creature form. John's eyes darted away, but it was too late, the smile was there and the wolf bit into his fur, catching him by surprise with impressive strength, and dragged him down into the pond with him.

After what felt like hours of just shoving each other into the pond and wrestling like cubs, John finally was able to push the wolf back in the direction of the cottage, picking up their game along the way. Back in human form, John dressed and delivered two of the birds to his pack before returning to prepare the third for the wolf and him. After setting the plucked, cleaned, and seasoned bird into the stove, John made himself some tea and took a seat in one of the two chairs in the small, but homey living space.

“Thank you for today.” a deep baritone voice like dark silk flooded through his senses. John blinked, confused before turning his head to see what could only be the wolf's human form, standing completely naked a few feet away from him. John's teacup slipped from his hand completely and shattered on the wood flooring before he even noticed he had been staring.

“Christ.” John nearly wheezed out as he jumped up to get something to clean the mess. What felt like miles and miles of perfect pale skin, only broken by the pink, almost scaring from the gash on his leg, accompanied him throughout as John picked up the pieces of his cup and cleaned the tea. The wolf, er, man, was tall, much taller then John, in his human form. His body was all lean muscle with long arms and legs that made saliva pool in John's mouth. When he finished, he kept his eyes high as to not start staring at the gorgeously pink, nipples and soft cock that John had gotten a glimpse of before he forced his gaze away. 'Down boy.' John mentally spoke to his alpha creature side. An amused chuckle broke the silence and brought John's eyes back the the man's almost alien facial features. He had a long face that looked as if it had been crafted, with a solid but delicate jaw-line and cheekbones that set curves to his face that John could barely comprehend. And his eyes, the same enchanting mix of green and blue with gold spattered like paint around the pupils, were now entirely hypnotizing as they watched him from under long dark eyelashes and dark locks of hair nearly long enough to fall into his face.

“You're staring.” And there was that seductive voice that gave John nearly physical pain. The alpha shook himself before looking directly into the man's eyes as to not look anywhere else. 

“Sorry. Um, yeah it was fun today. If you- if you wait in your room I can go see if my pack has any clothes that might fit you.” John stumbled over his words, but was proud he had gotten them out at all.

“Thank you, John.” the man smiled knowingly before turning—John swiftly looking away from the omega's backside—and walking back into his room. As soon as he was gone, John opened the front door, walked outside into the slightly chilly air, and just breathed for a moment as he calmed down.

Taking in this particular omega was going to be much harder than John had originally thought.

**Author's Note:**

> I think if I keep posting short chapters I should be able to get things out a little faster then slaving away over a long, confusing behemoth, so please be patient with my slow butt~
> 
> PS. Yes I'm already working on chapter two and if it's not done by tomorrow night THEN feel free to complain ^^;


End file.
